


Nobody Loves No One

by Pixeled



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 15:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeled/pseuds/Pixeled
Summary: It was such a wicked thing, to make Reeve dream of him. And he knew, deep down, Vincent would always come when he called, despite it all. If Reeve’s world was on fire, no one could save Reeve but Vincent. But now Vincent was the one setting the fire, and no one would come put it out.





	Nobody Loves No One

**Author's Note:**

> Suggested Listening: James Vincent McMorrow - Wicked Game

Reeve didn’t want to fall in love, but Vincent made it impossible to escape those feelings. Perhaps he _did _want to fall in love. It had been a while since he felt this feeling. It was strange what desire could make foolish people do, and Reeve was foolish. So foolish. He was foolish for thinking it could be casual, for thinking he could tame the beast that was Vincent’s heart.

Reeve could never dream that he’d meet someone like Vincent. He was well in his sixties and yet he looked to be in his twenties, still as beautiful and ageless as the day he died. He was possessed of a demon and several other creatures which seemed not of this world. Reeve had seen them when Vincent lost control—never up close, always through Cait Sith’s eyes. He knew he was dangerous. Perhaps that’s what made him so attractive.

Reeve was heart sick and Vincent probably didn’t even know it. He was so aloof, a man who came and went as he pleased, disappearing for weeks on end doing Bahamut knows what. Probably sleeping, probably regretting his life’s decisions. Vincent had a lot of guilt—guilt Reeve wanted to help him bear.

Still, Reeve couldn’t bear to see him go. He always called him before he entrenched himself too far in the past, always dug him out of his reverie. Vincent always came. Whether it was because he wanted a distraction or because he genuinely thought of Reeve as a friend who he owed, it was unclear.

It had been several weeks at this point since Reeve had seen the gunslinger now. He heard from Tifa he’d been in Cosmo Canyon for that duration, probably killing monsters, getting lost in routine, in being needed. Reeve knew that Vincent liked to be needed. He’d confessed it once, when they were in bed. He hadn’t meant that he wanted to be needed by Reeve, but Reeve imagined it, let it stir in his chest for long moments, filed away for keeping near to his heart.

When he heard Vincent was back, that Tifa had seen him drop by the bar looking road-weary, Reeve sent Cait Sith during one of his meetings to intercept Vincent in Edge. He couldn’t spy on their interaction, but Reeve trusted Cait to get Vincent’s attention.

As the meeting closed, Reeve went to his office to peer through his beloved creation’s eyes. This was unit twelve, he thought. Vincent had destroyed two in the time he’d known him. Vincent was not fond of the bipedal cat, not of all technology. When the first was sent back to him with several bullet holes, he’d sent Vincent a nasty text. Two weeks had gone by before the text was read (claimed the little message read line). There was never a response. Vincent didn’t text. He rarely picked up his phone. Sometimes Reeve had to send Cait to get an answer to something. Sometimes he sent a WRO soldier.

Either way, when Reeve sat at his desk and regarded the screen on his wall that showed Cait’s feed, static greeted him. He went back through the feed, saw Vincent smash the little cat’s eyes, heard it cry “I’m blind! Reeve will be upset with you” and Vincent’s answering “What else is new?”

There was nothing for it. Reeve would have to go seek the man out. What he would do once he got there, he didn’t know. Reeve was almost never uncertain about _anything _but Vincent had that effect on him. The man was fickle, capricious—flighty even. The slightest hint of too much, and he was gone.

Reeve left his office and went to search for Vincent. He’d been staying at one of the apartments above _Seventh Heaven_. He would find him there, most likely. When he arrived, he sat at Tifa’s bar and ordered a drink to bolster himself and to talk. Tifa was warm and kind and always made Reeve feel welcome. When their conversation ended Tifa gave Reeve a spare key to the apartment and he went up the squeaky stairs to confront the door he sought out. He turned the key in it, stepping inside. He didn’t bother to knock.

Inside, Vincent was on the bed, his clawed hand resting over his chest, his eyes closed. His face looked like it was scrunched in pain, and his body was tense. He was still wearing his cloak and his shoes, not having bothered to remove them.

Reeve approached slowly. He knew from past experience that waking Vincent could be a strange and dangerous affair. Depending on what he was dreaming about, he could lash out. He carefully laid a hand on Vincent’s cheek, cupped it slightly.

“Vincent. Wake up.” The words were uttered in a whisper, as if his normal volume might startle him too much.

Vincent slowly opened his eyes, grit his teeth. Reeve stroked his cheek lightly, trying to soothe. Vincent shuddered but eventually his shoulders sagged and his mouth relaxed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. It came out gruff, like he was dismissing Reeve with that one question.

“I . . .” Reeve thought he knew, but he didn’t. There was no purpose to his being there, invading Vincent’s space. There was no mission for him to go on, nor some excuse as to why he needed him. But he did. Need him, that is. He needed him in his bones.

He and Vincent had a casual arrangement. It all started one night when Reeve had needed a bodyguard on a mission. They sailed out of Junon and spent the night in a cabin. Vincent had sleep walked into Reeve’s bed and pressed against him. Reeve had spent many years pining for Vincent and to have him there, so close to his body that he could feel him draped along his back, it was torture. But he turned, looked at Vincent, and had studied his face. He kissed him softly then and he’d woken up in Reeve’s embrace. After that, they spent many nights like that. Vincent came to Edge a lot, spending nights at Reeve’s home. He always left in the morning. He always made the encounters stretch for weeks.

“You want something,” Vincent ventured. “Me, perhaps.”

“You,” Reeve echoed, nodding. “But . . . Vincent. Can I speak plainly?”

“You may,” Vincent said, looking at Reeve with confusion written on his face.

“I need more. From you.” Reeve came to sit on the foot of the bed.

“More missions?” Vincent asked. Reeve knew he was playing coy, trying to dissuade Reeve from really speaking what was on his mind, but Reeve bowled forward.

“No, Vincent. I need you. Only you. To be with me. To be mine.” His voice didn’t waver, even though his heart was in his throat.

“I can’t be that for you,” Vincent said quietly.

“Why not?” Reeve asked. “You bear your body to me, something you have told me you would never do. And you . . . you give me glimpses. At what it could be like. Even for a moment. I’ve wanted you for a long time. Even before we officially met, when I was hiding behind Cait Sith. I wanted you then.”

Vincent looked deeply uncomfortable, looking anywhere but at Reeve.

“Please,” Reeve begged softly. “Look at me. I want to love you. I want you to love me.”

“I’m a broken man,” Vincent whispered. “I’m . . . hardly a man. I’m a monster. You don’t want to love me. I will only hurt you, Reeve. I shouldn’t have ever . . .”

“You’re not a monster to me,” Reeve said, shaking his head. “You’re . . . gods, Vincent. So beautiful. Sometimes to look at you has made me ache you are so beautiful.”

Vincent looked at Reeve sadly. “I can’t. I won’t. I’ve let too many people down.”

“You’ve never let me down,” Reeve said, his voice softly pleading. It was such a wicked thing for Vincent to do, to give him hope, to bear himself, to give him a piece of his heart only to snatch it away.

“I’ve always let you down. I let you down from the beginning.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Reeve said, shaking his head. Tears were in his eyes, in his voice.

“Let me sleep,” Vincent said, turning away from Reeve on his side.

It was such a wicked thing, to make Reeve dream of him. And he knew, deep down, Vincent would always come when he called, despite it all. If Reeve’s world was on fire, no one could save Reeve but Vincent. But now Vincent was the one setting the fire, and no one would come put it out.

Still, Reeve left the room, pressed the keys in Tifa’s palm, and in the anonymity of his city, Reeve let the tears come as he wandered the streets.


End file.
